


Falling Blind

by CupCake_Caleb



Category: IT (2017), Reddie - Fandom
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-05-30 05:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15089657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupCake_Caleb/pseuds/CupCake_Caleb
Summary: The Losers are in high school and more fucked than ever.Please note: In this au, Pennywise did exist, but he's dead officially. I am aware that in the novel he still comes back after 27 years, but this time he's just dead. He doesn't come back or anything.





	1. Part One; Act One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Losers start their first day of Sophomore year. Things aren't too hot, regarding weather and multiple situations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic so please go easy on me :)

It's a cool morning in Derry, Maine. The shittiest town in the history of towns, according to Richie Tozier. As it is the first week of Fall, and the first day of his Sophomore year of high school, you can imagine how unreasonably stressed out Eddie Kaspbrak is on deciding which of his sweaters to wear that early, August morning.

"Eddie-Bear! You're going to be late for school! You don't want to be the tardy on your first day, now do you?" Sonia Kaspbrak was heard from downstairs as she sat in her musty, once white bathrobe at the kitchen counter. 

"Just a minute, Ma!" Eddie shouts back in a sweet tone. 

"Yeah, Eddie-Bear, you're going to be late for school love-bug." Richie Tozier is heard on the other end of the mint green cord phone lying on Eddie's desk, using a high-pitched, Southern tone. 

"Fuck off, Richie." Eddie says half-heartedly and continues to aggressively push through the hangers within his closet with all his polos and sweaters and jackets and t-shirts thrown in there somewhere.

Richie makes exaggerated kissing noises and then roars with laughter. 

Eddie scoffs.

"Richie this is serious! I need to figure out what the fuck to wear!"

"Just wear whatever the fuck you want. Nobody cares what you wear, Eds." Richie says lazily, punk-rock music playing in the background. 

"Don't call me Eds!" Eddie blushes as he pulls on a pair of plain, light jeans that come up just above his belly-button. He folds the ends of the fabric then stands shirtless in the doorway of his closet. 

There's a blowing noise against the phone, "You love it." 

"I thought you said you weren't going to smoke anymore." Eddie frowns even more. 

Eddie decides on a faded red sweater that fits his figure snugly. 

"Um, sorry ole chap, but I remember no such thing!" Richie says in a quite impressive British accent. 

Eddie sighs and mutters to himself, "Whatever. You were high anyways. Don't know what the fuck I expect, you're only nice to me when you're fucked up." Eddie glares as he huffs, adjusting his jeans. 

"Eds, mate, you know I want to bloody stop, but it's a bad habit I can't kick. A rabid thing it is." More of the British accent. Richie doesn't seem to have heard what Eddie said. Or he acts like he doesn't. 

"Whatever, fucker." Eddie rolls his eyes, annoyed as he pulls on his high-top sneakers, his striped socks showing slightly between the fold of his jeans and then ankle of his Converse, "I'll see you at school."

"Parting is such sweet sorrow-" Richie's British impersonation with a hint of sarcasm cuts out as Eddie hangs up the phone. 

Richie is probably the least straight, yet actually straight boy Eddie has ever met. Though there's never a doubt in Eddie's mind that Richie is anything else.

Eddie finally looks in the mirror and is pleased with how the outfit fits him so nicely.

A thought crosses his mind. He slides open the corner drawer of his dresser and sees his fanny pack lying there, atop his folded boxers. 

It has only been in there since yesterday, since he had worn the fanny all summer long. No matter his new found knowledge of his mother having bullshitted him for the entirety of his young life. 

The soul purpose of the fanny pack was to carry around his medications so that he could have them with him all the time, everywhere he went. But now, he's a Sophomore. It's been a whole year since he found out about his mother's lies. There's no further use of the handy carry-on. But somehow, there's hesitation in his heart. Maybe he should take it. Just to be safe. But to put what in it? There was always some stability that was brought with carrying around his fanny pack. But for stability there needs to be some sort of doubt. What is Eddie doubting? That he might catch some sort of disease and magically, his fake, moronic pills will cure said disease?

Eddie knows it's bullshit. 

So, he closes the drawer. 

But, despite his sudden found courage, he still throws his inhaler in the front pocket of his backpack. 

You know, just to be safe in case he has a fake asthma attack. 

He tries not to hate himself for doing this. 

___

Mike Hanlon shows up for school ten minutes early for his very first day of public school ever. He planned on meeting his friends before he headed to class, but his bladder won't let him.

That morning, Mike decided on his nicest pair of jeans, which weren't very nice, and a plain white t-shirt. All along with a cardigan that was given to him for Christmas from Beverly. 

He looks handsome, even though he, himself, doesn't seem to think so. 

He finishes doing his business and walks over to the sink to wash his hands when he hears the door swing open. He looks up in the mirror to see Victor Criss standing behind him with a surprised, yet infuriated look on his face. Mike watches as Victor's fists clench and his jaw tightens. 

Victor is a Senior, held back a year so now he's older than everyone in his class. He has been terrorizing Mike and his friends since they were just pre-teens. Even after their worst bully, Henry Bowers mysterious fall down the well within the Neibolt house, Victor still sometimes terrorizes the Losers. Somehow, Mike had avoided Criss all summer long. But now, there's no hiding. 

Luckily, Mike isn't much smaller than him now. No, not smaller at all. 

"Morning, Criss." Mike pumped the soap and began to wash his hands, making sure he could see Henry in his peripheral vision. 

"What the fuck are you doing at my school?" Victor growls. 

Mike doesn't say a word as he dries his hands with the given paper towels. He calmly turns around, standing straight and breathing evenly. 

"I asked you a question, you piece of shit!" Victor lunges for Mike and pulls his shirt collar, his hot breath fanning onto Mike's face. 

Mike's jaw locks and his eyes become angry, "You know I'm not some little kid you can push around anymore, Henry." Mike says in a low tone, grabbing onto Victor's wrist. 

"Try me, Hanlon. I can make your life a living hell." Victor grips Mike's shirt tighter. 

"Oh, yeah?" Mike says.

"Yeah, asshole." 

Suddenly, Mike feels Victor's knee push into his thigh. Mike raises his eyebrows. 

"You missed, dickweed." Mike says before raising his fist and plunging it into Victor's eye-socket. 

Victor falls onto the tile with a loud grunt, one punch and onto the floor. Mike kicks him in the side for good measure. 

"Payback's a bitch. Now leave me and my friends the fuck alone." Mike says while adjusting his shirt, sweater, and backpack. The cuss words feel unnatural on his tongue, but he says them all the same.

He hears a low wheeze as he leaves, the bathroom door swinging closed behind him. 

___

Beverly Marsh rides her sunshine yellow bike down King St. as she makes her way to school. Her freckled hands grip the metal handles, her polished finger nails freshly painted with a different color on each finger. She wears a jean skirt with black tights and pink, thick boots. Along with a tight, white sweater with a rainbow strip around the breasts. She wears a black headband on her head, perfectly pulling back her soft, short hair. Her freckled face is makeup free despite the blue eyeshadow that lightly and expertly dusts her eyelids.

Beverly is happy to come back to school. She's happy to see her boyfriend John Parker, who she hasn't seen all summer. John was supposed to give her a ride this morning, but he canceled at the last minute. Apparently, he coincidentally told all four of his friends he would give them rides to school on the first day.

Beverly forced herself not to cry. Even though she really, really wanted to. It's not a big deal. You'll still see him today, she told herself. 

John is a football player who is sleeping with another girl, Emily Fitzgerald, behind Beverly's back. Beverly knows this, hell, the entire school knows this, but it's all Bev can do to act like she doesn't know. 

Beverly also forced herself not to call Ben. Her best friend probably ever. Who she is secretly in love with. But in reality, only a half-secret, since all the Losers know of her love for Ben, except, of course, Ben. And Beverly knows that Ben loves her, too, but she's always been keen on keeping it that way; both in love but going nowhere fast. 

The only thing on Earth that Beverly is scared of, at this point in her life, even after battling It, murdering her own father, and coming out to her friends as bisexual, ----though nobody else--, is letting someone truly love her. 

___

Bill and Stan are sitting in math class. Though not really Bill and Stan. Just Bill. And just Stan. Sitting at opposite sides of the room. Stan stares at Bill and all he can feel is how much his heart hurts at seeing him and all he can think is how good he looks in his navy sweatshirt that fits him nicely with the strings tied in a bow, courtesy of Bev earlier this morning. Stan watched from afar as Bill stared at her careful fingers while she did it. He's also wearing plain jeans and beat up, grey trainers. 

Bill doesn't look to the front of the classroom. Even though he knows exactly where Stanley is sitting. He could look over. But he doesn't. Bill still knows what Stan is wearing. Which is a perfectly pressed hunter green cable sweater and white flannel underneath, then a black rain coat over both since the weather said it was going to rain this afternoon and of course Stan would know that since Stan watches the news because Stan is responsible and likes to be prepared for things. Bill frowns. 

On the surface, Bill's not tidy. His speech is messy, but that's a give in, his room, his hair, his clothes, his family. But underneath, he's steady and even. He has calm thoughts, steady hands -knowing hands, silk sleep. 

Stan's chest feels heavy. He's polar opposite to Bill. On the surface, Stan is calm and collected and his life is nearly normal. But, of course, most of the things about a person are on the underneath. In Stan's case, the underneath includes anxiety and paranoia, a natural shakiness, poor sleep habits, and never knowing what to do with his hands. He swallows and stares at his shoes. 

His shoes. Looking at them, Stan thinks of when Bill closed his front door to Bill's house after kicking him out. Stan stood in the middle of the street and yanked off his shoe and threw it as hard as he could right down the middle of the street. It didn't go very far. Stan is pretty uncoordinated. Even with all of that built up adrenaline added to the mix. 

He thinks back to that night. 

The only thing worse than being so incredibly infuriated with someone, is being so incredibly infuriated with yourself. It's easier to put the blame on someone else, because putting the blame on yourself means that, in that moment, you could've done something about it. If only you'd chosen differently. If only you'd said this instead of that. If only you'd tried harder to control yourself. Along with another thousand if only's.

Yeah. That's what Stan should've done. He should've controlled himself. He shouldn't have done what he did. Because it ruined everything. 

And now Bill can't even look at him. 

Stan hates himself.


	2. Part One; Act Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to middle school and to a time when Richie as having a hard time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: THERE IS SUICIDAL CONTENT WITHIN THIS CHAPTER AND I REALLY WANT YALL TO STAY SAFE SO PLEASE ACT APPROPRIATELY.  
> :)

They say the last thing to go when you die is your hearing. 

I wish I was dead. 

"Richie! Oh my god, baby, what did you do, what did you do?!" I can hear Bev cry. 

My entire body is still when she pulls me into her thin, painter arms and I can feel her tears falling in big droplets onto my face. One plops right into my mouth and I can feel the salty tear dissolve onto my tongue.

I part my lips just enough to muster a single word, "No . . ."

Beverly sobs, "Hello, 911? It's my friend . . . he's . . . he-"

Everything went to black. 

I wish I never saw color again. 

___

But here I am. Looking up at the faded burgundy of the Derry Middle School sign. 

Nothing in the first world is more depressing than middle school. I think we can all agree on that. 

I stand there for a good two minutes, debating grabbing my board and riding down to the quarry to have a good smoke. 

I look down at what I'm wearing. Black jeans with rips in the knees. A white Ramones tee. My dirty jean jacket with the tear in the arm. The old chucks. I twist my nose piercing a few times. 

Wow. I even look gay. 

I pull out a cigarette and use the rusty cmc continental lighter with the red rose on it that Mike gave me for my birthday. I take in a long drag and stare up at the school with my left hand in my pocket. 

I feel myself relax as my lungs inhale and exhale, puffs of smoke clouding my vision. I tip my head towards the sun, closing my eyes, taking in another smoke. 

"Hey, trash mouth."

My eyes slide open and I'm faced with a boy with brown eyes, freckled cheeks, light wash skinny jeans that are folded at the bottom, and a tucked in pink polo. 

Eddie Kaspbrak. Eddie. Eds. 

My heart swells and a grin slides onto my face as I toss the cigarette to the ground and twist my toe. 

"You're gonna be late for third period. Might be a problem since you already missed the first two." He says, squinting his eyes. He seems casual if you don't know him well enough. Rather, if you know him, you notice how his hands are clutching tightly to his backpack straps so that his knuckles turn white. You'll notice how he's in a perpetual cycle of swallowing about every five seconds. You'll notice how his breathing is shaky.

"Aw, Eds. You really do care." I say cheekily, winking delightfully.

He sighs in relief so obviously. He's still clutching his backpack but it's nearly impossible for Eddie to be Eddie without his nerves along for the ride. 

"I told you not to call me that. Asshole." A small smile plays on his adorable face. 

"Cutie-patootie." I smirk and walk to wrap an arm around his small neck. He smells how he always smells. Like peonies from his laundry detergent and mint hand sanitizer. Eddie's smell is almost as familiar as my own. 

For once, he doesn't brush it off. I know it's because he was worried. My stomach hurts at how much I know that Eddie can worry. And about me. 

I know that he knows why I missed school. He probably called the house a gazillion times. Because that's Eddie. And I'm sure my mom didn't pick up as soon as she looked at the number. Because that's my mom. She doesn't give a damn about anyone but herself. 

It was only a week in the hospital. I couldn't have any visitors besides my mom and dad and sister. Even though there is no dad to visit. 

We're walking in silence, though it's not an uncomfortable one. 

"Just . . ." Eddie starts. I look down at him, though he's not looking at me, "Don't do it again, okay?"

I don't say anything. I just nod. Even though he's not looking at me. 

"Wanna ditch class?" Eddie says, looking at me.

"What?" I laugh, "Eddie Spaghetti, you little devil. Ditching class like it's nothing. What happened to you? You used to be such an angel. So pure. So. . ." I fake struggle to find words, "Gosh . . . Just so darn cute. Now look at you. You're a hooligan-" I turn my head in disgust. 

"Okay, relax, Shakespeare." He rolls his eyes but there's a small smile played on his face. 

"A behemoth-" I gasp, clutching my heart. 

"Richie, I swear to fucking God." He rolls his shoulder so that my arm falls off. 

I grasp my chest as if I've been shot, "A -A -A delinquent." I fake sob. 

"Beep-beep Richie." He scowls. 

"Eddie-bear. My sweet, sweet Eds." 

"Don't call me that dipshit. And I said BEEP BEEP RICHARD." He snaps in my face. 

"Damn. Okay. Tough crowd." I throw my hands up in defeat, though my tone is still of a mocking manner. 

"Trashmouth." He smirks.

"Woah, woah, Eds. We don't like that word, remember?" I feign offense. 

He just rolls his eyes, "Come on, dumbass. Let's go to the diner to get some hot cocoa." He huffs.


	3. Part One; Act Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to present day, starting off with Bill and Stan (yay im hyped :) )

As soon as Beverly sees Bill, she sprints, shouting "BILLIAM!" A couple of people turn around to glance.

Bill turns around and his face lights up at the sight of her. She wraps her arms around his neck, her sweater tickling his skin. Bill stumbles with a laugh.

She kisses the side of his face, "I missed you so much." Bill is sure that she's left a lipstick stain, but he doesn't mind much.

He smiles as she slides off of him, "S-Same here. Even though we did j-ust see each other y-yes-yesterday." He grins.

"Yeah, but I think drama can be fun." She winks.

"As a-always." Bill smiles.

"Where's everyone else?" She asks, looking around slightly.

Bill looks over her shoulder and for a second, he thinks that he's just seen Stan. But then the person is gone, having turned the corner. Bill frowns.

"Eddie is running l-late. Rich is pro-bably not even g-g-going to show. Mike has zero p-period. And . . ." Bill's explanation drifts.

Bill Denbrough is good at hiding his emotions, but in all his fifteen and a half years he never was good at lying.

"Did something happen?" Bev frowns.

Bill shrugs, "Not really." It's not a lie. Just a downplay. Something did happen. And it definitely wasn't nothing. But Bill doesn't tell her that. So yes, it is a lie. But not a very obvious one.

"Did you guys fight?" Bev looks up at him with her crystal blue eyes and a concerned expression.

"S-Sort of?" Bill looks confused.

Bev decides not to push it, so she just nods.

The bell rings.

"I'll see you in fifth." Bev gives a small smile.

Bill just nods, remembering how they compared schedules only minutes after they got them.

Bill smiles thoughtfully at when they kissed at age twelve. Bill's first kiss. He had the biggest crush on her. Or so he thought.

But then, of course, Bill realized he was gay.

___

Stan takes a seat in the very front of the classroom, seeing no seating chart on the chalkboard.

Somehow, he can't help himself. He knows they have the same first period. He turns around in his seat to see Bill staring straight at him.

They both look away. As do both of their cheeks turn a varying shade of red.

Stan's neck gets hot. He tugs at his sleeves before folding his hands on the desk neatly.

He sits up straight in his seat and waits for the teacher to arrive. 

Stan tries to not think about it because every time he thinks about it he wants to cave in on himself and cry like a child. He remembers back to when he was an actual child, when his mother would pet his hair, whispering sweet nothings in his ear whenever he would cry and get upset. Oh, how Stanley misses his mother. 

But his mother is dead. And he's not a child. And she's definitely not here to treat him like one. Though these bitter words are told to himself, his heart still aches. Stan's mind wanders further. He thinks more about when he was young. 

When they were young. He thinks about the sleepovers of when they'd just hit eighth grade. Him and Bill, of course. When he was finally realizing these newly developed feelings for the Denbrough boy. A sexual awakening, of sorts. The sleepovers where Stan would try to not think about the boy sleeping next to him in an "inappropriate way"; failed attempts, they were. The sleepovers when they still slept in the same bed, when Bill would roll over in his sleep a little too close to Stan, when Stan would melt in the natural radiance of heat that the other boy gave off. Bill was never much of a light sleeper, so this happened often. Though, Bill doesn't do really anything lightly. 

As Stan would always chastise him for, he walks the Earth with a heavy heart. 

When Bill would roll over like that, nearly only an inch to hitting his shoulder against Stan's chin, Stan could never help himself. He would take a deep inhale of the smell that stuck onto Bill. 

It was like a drug. A drug that Stan would guilt himself over the next day. 

But he had a crush on the boy. A bad one, at that. 

Sometimes, Stan lies awake at night. In the summer, his dad always turns the A/C on high, making the house feel like a freezer box. And he would shiver. And think of the heat of Bill Denbrough. 

Thinking about the uncanny, lingering memory of a smell, if possible, of another boy's t-shirt. And the heat that would radiate off of Bill, making Stan, with his naturally cold temperature and freezing ass house, shiver, wanting nothing more than to go back to those moments. 

After a whole summer of never having that. After everything Stan had done to ruin those small moments he stole for himself, it feels as if he's frozen over completely. On the inside. Like his heart is an iceberg. Needing the warmth of Bill Denbrough to melt him over. 

Needing the smell of his t-shirt to be able to breath. It smelled of wet grass and sugar lemons. Though, all of this. All of these feelings . . . Not something he would care to admit. 

Or at least, not for a second time. 

Why? Not because he's scared. 

No. Stan's not a coward; That's Eddie. 

He's just stubborn. 

___ 

The bell rings after class and Stan realizes he basically missed the whole thing while stuck in his thoughts. 

Whatever, the first day never matters, he thinks to himself. 

He picks up his backpack off of the ground and pulls it over his shoulders before taking both of his hands and sliding in his chair. He walks in an even pace out of the classroom. 

"S-Stan." Stan stops and turns. 

Bill. Of course, it's Bill. 

Stan doesn't say anything, he just looks up at the other boy with a dry expression. 

"Can w-we t-t-talk?" Bill gulps. 

Stan blinks, "No." Stan walks away. 

"W-Wait -Stan!" Bill grabs on Stan's elbow.

Stan glares, looking down at Bill's hand. 

Bill watches him before muttering, "S-Sorry." 

Stan sighs and turns, "What is it, William?" 

"I- um . . ." Bill looks down. 

"Cat got your tongue?" Stan says coldly. 

Bill looks up at Stan, slightly surprised. Never in his life has he ever felt like he was hated by Stan besides this moment. He's seen Stan be mean to other people as a defense mechanism, but never to him. 

"I j-just wanted to say I'm s-s-sorry." Bill searches Stan's face. 

Stan raises his eyebrows, "For what?" 

Bill furrows his brows, suddenly very confused, "W-What do you m-mean what?" 

"Look, I gotta get to class." Stan rolls his eyes before walking off. 

_________ 

A/N: Hello lovelies, I know this is really short and unsatisfying, but this is probably gonna be a slow burn cuz that's just how I write lmao.


	4. Part One; Act Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Bev reunited

After the Losers . . . adventure, in the sewers, Ben asked to go live with his mom in Montana. Over the years, he lost touch with almost every single one of the Losers. 

All except, of course, Bev. Beverly Marsh. They talked almost every day on the phone after school. And if not right after school, they would talk at night. Sometimes for the whole night. They just . . . they just got each other. Of course, Ben already had a pretty big crush on Bev. But talking to her on the phone every day and all night, he found himself starting to fall in love with each other. 

When he turned thirteen, he realized that playing football meant losing a lot of weight. This didn't particularly cross his mind until he, also, realized that high school was coming up. Losing weight meant being skinny. Being skinny meant confidence. And girls love confidence. It's science. 

If anyone knew Ben's thoughts, they would've felt bad for the boy. Everyone knows what it feels like to feel as if they have to live up to society's standards. 

But in Ben's case, he didn't feel like he was doing this because he felt like he needed to live up to body standards. He felt like he was doing this for himself. Because for once, Ben wanted to feel good about himself. 

So, Ben went to the gym. And he took athletic conditioning. Eventually, by Freshman year he had achieved exactly what he wanted; confidence and actually liking to look in the mirror. 

It wasn't easy. Not even close. He almost gave up at least a dozen times. But, no matter, he kept himself going, taking baby steps. 

It was an amazing feeling to have reached his goal. He even became the quarterback's blind side, a position he felt good about. 

With talks on the phone with Bev, having a body that he liked and the confidence that he needed, and finally having felt that he could move past all of the trauma that took place in the dirty sewers of Derry, Maine, he decided that he wanted to see the Losers again. 

He wanted his friends back. 

And so here he is, standing in the cafeteria with a giddiness in his stomach and the element of surprise. He sighs and looks around, searching the many, many lunch tables. 

___

"Hey, baby." John says in a cooing tone as he realizes that Beverly has appeared by his side. He slides a groping hand around her waist and she smiles. Not a real one, of course. That's pretty unlikely with a guy like John and a girl like Beverly. 

"Hey. How has your classes been so far?" Beverly asks politely. 

She glances over to see the girls sitting at their lunch table looking her up and down disgustedly. Unfortunately, the rumors from middle school followed her to high school. It still makes her a little sick to her stomach. There's only one girl, Julia Kenn who gives her a polite smile. Some of the guys give her the same reaction, but most of them give her creepy smirks and looks that could make Bev throw up all over the table. 

John scoffs, "Bullshit."

John goes on talking to his friends. He doesn't ask Beverly how her classes went. He doesn't even kiss her hello. 

This is usually about how their lunches go. Beverly has convinced herself that she's okay with this. 

But then, she feels a flutter in her chest. Her breath catches, and she blinks. 

Is that Ben?

She thinks she might be having an aneurism. Or a dream. Like she's finally lost it. This is it. This is the part where she finally loses her mind. 

He looks like Ben but . . . different. His hair is darker. And he's . . . well . . skinnier. Not skin and bone, not beefy and straight ripped, but like a dad bod. Bev thinks she heard her friend Renee say that one time; a "dad bod". 

But then the boy smiles nervously and waves. Beverly could know that smile anywhere. And Bev finds herself jumping up from the bench and running over to him, squealing as she wraps her arms around him. They hug for what feels like eternity. Beverly thinks Ben's arms are her new favorite to have wrapped around her. 

They finally pull away and Beverly is beaming, "I can't believe you're back!" 

"Yeah, me neither. It's kinda weird." He smiles. 

"I missed you so much." Bev gives him another quick hug. 

Ben smiles softly, "I missed you, too." 

"Look at you! You got totally hot, dude!" Bev pulls on his blue knit sweater. 

Ben scratches the back of his neck, "Football." He shrugs. 

"When did you get back?" Bev feels this incessant giddiness in her stomach. 

"Yesterday. I wanted it to be a surprise." Ben can't stop smiling. 

All he can think about is how much he wants to kiss Beverly Marsh. He doesn't.

"Well, it definitely was. Hold on, let me go grab my stuff." She holds up a hand and walks quickly back over to the table that she was sitting at. 

It's only then that Ben realizes that he doesn't recognize any of the people at the table. 

"Who the fuck is that?" John glares at Ben. 

Beverly secretly hopes that Ben can't hear them. 

"He's an old friend from when we were kids. I haven't seen him in a couple years so I'm gonna spend lunch with him. No big deal." For the first time, Beverly is almost rude to John. It's almost always been the other way around, though John doesn't seem to notice. 

Bev slings her backpack straps over her shoulders and kisses him on the cheek, "I'll see you in seventh." She hurries away before her boyfriend can protest. 

___

As Ben and Beverly walk, it's almost perfect. Somehow, traveling back to Maine, with all of Ben's thoughts swarming, all he could think about was if it would be weird seeing Beverly in person. But now, walking and talking with her just like old times, he can't even understand why he would have any reason to be worried.

I mean, come on, it's Beverly. She's the least awkward person that Ben knows. 

Though something does come as a surprise to Ben; A lot has changed since he left after that summer. A lot. 

"What do you mean by 'drifted'?" Ben furrows his brows as they sit closely, leaning in to each other at one of the tables in the library. 

"I don't know." Bev bites her lip, "Drifted. We sort of all just . . . split into twos and went on with our lives. Sometimes, from what I hear, there's small talk amongst ourselves, but it's just . . . different, I guess." 

Ben licks his lips slightly, "It's kind of hard to imagine. I mean, even when it was just Stan and Bill and Eddie and Richie. They always all seemed so close."

"I know." Bev frowns, "Richie and Eddie are still best friends. I don't think that could ever change in a million years. No matter how different they are. Stan and Bill had all the same classes Freshman year. And Mike and I, well, it was always easy for us to get along. And he would always come to me for advice on girls. I don't know. It just sort of happened." Somehow, Beverly looks guilty, "I think it was sort of my fault, too."

"I highly doubt that-" Ben starts to shake his head. 

"I started dating this guy named Ryan and I stopped hanging out with them at lunch. I think that was what started it all. Then, when Ryan and I broke up, there was these girls from the soccer team. They were probably the only girls that were ever nice to me. But then . . . well . . I ruined that, too." Beverly looks down. 

"What do you mean you ruined it?" Ben instinctively puts his hand over hers. 

"I guess you're gonna find out eventually so there's no point in hiding it from you." Bev shrugs, "I'm bisexual."

Ben nods, "Okay." 

"Okay." Bev feels a slight feeling of relief. Even though she knew that Ben wouldn't care, Ben was never biased like that, he was too smart to be biased, Beverly still always absent-mindedly holds her breath, waiting for the other person's reaction when coming out. Even though she's only told about seven people. 

"Basically I had a crush on one of the girls. There was two of them. I kissed her when we were drunk. And neither of them ever spoke to me again." Bev sighs. 

"I'm sorry, Bev." Ben squeezes her hand. 

"Fortunately for me, neither of them ever told anyone anything. Not that I know of, at least." 

Ben nods. 

"I've never told anyone that, so if you could just maybe not-" Bev bites her lip.

Ben nods because he already understands. 

"If you broke up with that Ryan guy, who was that guy at the table?" Ben swallows, taking his hand away. Beverly doesn't seem to notice. 

"John. My current boyfriend." 

"Oh." Ben tries not to sound disappointed. 

"Yeah." Beverly looks away. She hates this feeling.

"Just so you know, Beverly, I don't think it's your fault what happened with the Losers. Friends drift all the time. It just happens." Ben gives her a sad smile. 

"I know. Just sometimes I get kinda sad about it. I want our old friends back." Bev starts to stand up, knowing the bell is about to ring any second. 

Ben nods and stands as well. In that moment, the bell rings. 

___

A/N: Okay I swear these chapters will get longer just bear with me.


	5. Part One; Act Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I changed a bunch of shit in previous chapters, so you might want to go back and reread. Sorry, loves. :(

On the first Friday of the school year, Stan has zero plans since Richie is going to a concert with one of his older friends and Eddie is on house arrest. It's after school when Stan hears a knock at his door. It's already raining outside since Maine weather just loves to give Derry a good drenching as soon as the seasons come around.

Stan swings it open, expecting to see Eddie having sneaked out or Richie deciding the concert was lame or was canceled or something. 

Instead, he's met with Bill Denbrough standing on his door step. Stan is surprised and slightly taken aback. 

But then he recovers and is set to a dry expression. 

"Yes?" Stan says. 

Bill's hair is wet and his sweatshirt is nearly drenched as well. There's water droplets falling from his eyelashes and he almost looks as if he's been crying. 

As soon as Stan notices this, he can't help but soften. 

"W-We need to talk." Bill says and his lip quivers. 

Stan's expression becomes concerned for a second, before hardening and huffing, "About what?"

"Y-You know what I w-want to talk about S-S-Stan-Stanley." Bill sighs and his expression is pleading. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." Stanley attempts to close the door on Bill, but Bill pushes his foot into the door. 

"That's not fair, Stanley." Bill protests gently, beginning to follow him into the house, politely pulling off his shoes as quickly as he can. Once he's done, he looks up to see Stan is gone. 

Bill swiftly turns the corner into their living room and sees a glimpse of Stan hurrying up the stairs. 

Bill takes the stairs two at a time and before Stan can close his bedroom door on him, Bill once again puts his foot where it doesn't belong. He steps into Stan's bedroom and Stan is standing in the middle of it with his fists clenched. Bill takes a few steps closer to Stan when Stan turns around, Bill inhaling at the sudden closeness. 

"What's not fair, Bill?" Stan is infuriated and it only takes one look at him for Bill to know this. 

Stan narrows a brow up at Bill, daring him to say it. Bill is nearly a head taller than Stan, and it couldn't irritate the shorter boy more. Yet somehow cause his heart to leap among all the annoyance. 

"Y-You said that you l-l-like me." Bill swallows. 

Stan rolls his eyes, yet despite his attempted unbothered act, his cheeks are a bright shade of red. 

"I know what I said." Stan sighs and there's a hint of a look in his eyes, "I get it. You don't feel the same way. You're not gay -or, whatever. It doesn't matter." Though the look on Stan's face says otherwise. 

"I can't give you the things that you want." Bill swallows.

"Like I said, I get it." Stan starts to become even more embarrassed and suddenly frustrated at how Bill is dragging this out. He just wants it over and done with.

Stan crosses his arms and wishes that Bill would leave already. He feels like crying. He wants to lay in his bed and just weep for the rest of the night. God, he's such a crybaby.

Bill grabs Stan's hand, "N-N-No!' It comes out desperate and sudden, causing Stan to look up at him in surprise, "No. W-Wait. No. That's not w-what I meant. It's not that I d-don't want to -I m-m-mean, it's not th-that I don't-" 

They're still standing so close. Stan keeps glancing down at Bill's long fingers wrapped around the back of his hand, as if Bill's touch is burning his skin.

"I j-just . . . I'm not sure if I can be w-what you want m-me . . . to be." Bill says hesitantly. 

"Look. You don't have to make up some dumb excuse to get your friend back." Stan's cheeks are flustered and his eyes are glazed over. He pulls his hand away from Bill's.

In all their years of being friends, Bill had never seen Stan cry. Besides that night, of course. That was the only time. But that was a fear cry. Not a real cry. Bill is beginning to think that this will be his first time seeing Stan's Real Cry.

"S-Stanley." Bill protests. 

"What, Bill? What could you possibly have to say?" Stan huffs.

Bill inhales, but nothing comes out. He never was very good with words. 

Before Stan can get away from him again, Bill grabs the lower side of his sweater, just underneath Stan's ribs and pulls him close. Stan looks surprised at Bill's actions and his breath catches in his throat. They're standing less than an inch apart. 

Stan can smell him. And it's as if everything is right in the world when he smells that smell. 

"W-What're you doing?" Stan whispers, staring up at him with a knot in his stomach. 

Bill's large hand cups the side of Stan's face and Stan inhales. 

"I'm the one with the stutter, Stanley." Bill's face is now only centimeters away from Stan's. 

And Bill kisses Stan. And at first, Stan isn't sure, so he doesn't kiss back. But then his heart gives in, and he does kiss back. And it's not everything Stan thought it to be. 

It's better. 

Stan sets his hands on Bill's shoulders and can feel the coldness of his wet sweatshirt from the rain. Wet strands of Bill's hair tickle Stan's skin. 

Their lips don't move much and then it's over as quick as it started. 

It's not as if they made out and in reality it only lasted a few seconds. But a few seconds is all it took for Stan's vision to be impaired. Both of the boy's necks feel hot and Bill looks down at Stan with a fondness in his eyes. 

This causes Stan's heart to flutter and it feels like a dream. But then the gears in his head start to turn and interpretations of the situation begin to form and Stan searches Bill's features, hoping to find answers to make sense of it all. 

"D-Don't think too much, Stanley. We may have s-stopped being friends, b-but I still know you. I know how y-you g-get." Bill smiles slightly and Stan realizes Bill's hand is still clasped onto his sweater. 

"I can't help but think." Stan says with a hurt look on his face that causes a tug at Bill's heart. 

"Stanley, I'm s-sorry." Bill watches Stan sit at the foot of his bed. 

There's a silence that fills the room.

"What're you th-thinking?" Bill asks. 

"I'm trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for all of this." Stan says.

"Do you w-want the truth?" 

"Always."

"I-I'm . . . " Bill doesn't finish. 

"I get this awful feeling that you don't actually feel the same for me." Stan swallows and it's clear that all of his walls have been broken down.

Thunder rolls outside the room. 

Bill can't stop staring at him, yet Stan won't even look up. His eyes are too fixated on his palms that sit evenly on his knees. 

"I do." Bill says but Stan can tell there's something he's not letting on. 

"Then why?" Stan finally looks up at Bill with an unreadable expression on his face. 

"I just c-can't give you th-the things that you n-eed." Bill looks like all of the air has been pushed out of him. 

"That doesn't even make sense, Bill." Stan sighs. 

Bill looks around the room slightly before taking a breath and sitting next to Stan on his bed. There's a couple of inches between them, but Bill couldn't be more stressed. 

"I'm not out. And I'm not ready to be." Bill blurts out and Stan notices how he didn't stutter once, "A-And it has n-n-nothing to do with you. I-I mean -Ugh! W-What I mean is, I w-w-would n-never want to make you feel like I'm ash-ashamed of you. Th-That's why I never told you. I held m-myself back be-because I cared about you t-too much." 

Stan furrows his brows and for once he doesn't know what to say, "Oh."

"I've always b-been too sc-scared to tell you. But I knew t-that I was gay si-since Eddie kissed me in the summer before Fresh-Freshman year." Bill swallows. 

A slow smile creeps onto Stan's face with an amused 'seriously' look on his face, turning to Bill, "Eddie was your sexual awakening?" 

"Shut up." Bill rolls his eyes with an embarrassed smile, "I-It was only f-f-for like a second."

Stan's heart aches for a moment, but in a good way, because he couldn't have missed their playful banter more. 

But then Stan frowns, "Why were you scared to tell me?"

"I don't r-really know how to deal with all of th-these f-fee-feelings." Bill looks away after a very long moment. 

"I understand." Stan says. And he does. 

"Are you mad?" Bill looks at Stan. And Stan looks at Bill.

Stan sighs, "No." 

"So . . . What do w-we do now?" Bill looks down at his lap.

"I don't know." Stan frowns. 

"I-I should probably g-go now." Bill starts to stand. 

"Why?" Stan says, pulling Bill back down by his sweatshirt sleeve. 

"W-Well, I mean, I came over here to say w-what I wanted to say. An-And I did." Bill shrugs. 

"Isn't there usually a point in conversations when the other person gets to talk?" Stan asks softly.

"Oh." Bill laughs nervously before sticking his hands into his jean pockets. 

"I don't care that you're not ready to come out. I don't care that you're new to all of this. I don't even care if you never want to tell anyone ever -I mean, obviously, if it goes on for long enough, I'd want to tell the Losers, but whenever you're ready is fine with me. And I definitely don't care that I'm the first guy that you've ever been with." Stan takes a quick breath after saying all of this. 

"You d-don't care?" 

"On which part?" Stan chuckles slightly. 

"That I've n-never been w-with a guy?" Bill asks hesitantly. 

"Of course not." Stan can't help but laugh a little, nudging Bill with his shoulder. 

Bill blushes, "Oh." 

Stan smirks. 

"It's actually kinda cute." 

"I h-h-hate you." Bill blushes. 

"Do you now?" Stan teases, laughing, feeling like his chest is so much lighter than it was ten minutes ago.

"Shut up." Bill mutters. 

"Hey." Stan says, suddenly serious, "We can go slow. Okay?"

Bill shrugs, "N-Not too slow."

It's Stanley's turn to blush. 

___

It was a little awkward afterwards. But not a resentful one. Just awkward. Both Bill and Stanley could feel it. 

They lied on the bed talking for almost the whole night until Bill had to go home. Even though they didn't touch each other at all, and all they did was talk, Stan couldn't of had a better reason to go to bed smiling that night.

___

A/N: So don't get too excited cuz this is just the beginning of Stenbrough and all their ups and downs. Yes, I am back on my bullshit thank you for coming to my ted talk mwah.


End file.
